Worthy of Me

Worthy of Me

By Lindsey H.

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Posted on Thursday, 12 June 2008

Once Upon a Quiet Evening at Mansfield Park

"Recapture my heart," she whispered, leaning closer. The floundering firelight illuminated her silky black hair.

"Insane, madam. Please leave me to my book." He shifted his weight to lean away from her and refocus his attentions.

"Edmund, look at me, please!" He stared determinedly at the pages of gentle script. The handwriting had barely started to fade. He could only guess how long ago it was penned, as there was no date affixed to any entry.

Her persistence had never before been matched in this way. Why was she suddenly feeling the pangs of defeat? What had happened to her powers, her unparalleled supremacy in the arts of persuasion?

"Why have you altered so?! Have you no heart, sir?" She clasped her hands together and placed them on his knee, passionately threatening, "Yes!" her voice rose to a hiss that harmonized with the fire's crackle. "Youhave no heart! You are just an imitation of an honorable man, hiding a brutish and selfish existence."

He moved his hand toward hers and she began to think progress was being made... That climbing hope took a plunge downhill as he only removed her hands from his knee and placed them in her own lap.

"Miss Crawford, you are in our home as a guest. I would like to treat you as such, but if you persist in carrying on in this manner, I will have to take command of finding you other arrangements until your departure."

Letting out a loud, exasperated huff, which was something Miss Crawford had never done before, she stood and glared into the fire's burning fingers. Her rage was slowly retreating and an entirely new sensation, perhaps of remorse, was eating at her senses. Somewhat humbled by the resistance to her outburst, she questioned gently. "Why have you refused me? Why will you not see that we were made for each other? I do not see what changed."

He too was now looking into the firelight. In formulating his reply, his mind began to calm at the mere thoughts of her faithful face, her gentle, yet unsteady hand writing the pages he now held. "I love her." It seemed too sacred to say above a whisper.

"Then why not marry me, if you do?" Mary Crawford's brow had never creased so hard in her life. It would likely be cemented in that formation now. Nudged out of his reverie, he said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean you. I meant Fanny." My dear Fanny.

Mary's brow creased harder and her head began to hurt. Surely he was joking... "Fanny? What on earth are you talking about?"

Wondering if there was such thing as witchcraft in Plymouth, she knelt before him again, only not in a imposing fashion but as a mentor would to a troubled child. "Edmund, be reasonable. Do come to your senses."

"I have, Mary. That is just the thing..."

She interrupted his adamant speech. "Now, I know that Fanny is dear and kind, but she is not going to be suitable for you. Nor for any man, I wager. A real woman is both angel and devil. Fanny - Why, she is simply angel. And angels, you know, are not to be wedded."

Her eyes fluttered about as if to look for a source of help. They lighted on the open book. Strangely, the script style was familiar, but was not Edmund's.

What an odd conversation this was turning out to be. How Henry would laugh and mock if he somehow caught wind of it! Well, he would not hear a word of it.

"Edmund," she tried coaxing again, only to be interrupted by the opening of the door. A shining golden head leaned in just enough to glance about the room.

"Edmund?"

"Yes, Fanny?"

"It is almost time for supper."

"Yes, dear. I am coming." Smiling, he walked passed Miss Crawford without a glance, and moved across the room to take Fanny by the arm. Mary watched in an awful, helpless confusion as he entwined her left arm in his right. The two women exchanged looks, one calm and questioning, the other simply mystified. 

Mary caught a glimpse of something shiny.

"Fanny,"

"Yes, Miss Crawford?" Fanny and Edmund had already started down the hallway. Mary leaned against the doorframe for support.

"What is on your hand?"

Fanny looked pointedly at her escort for a slip of a moment, and then turned to look back over her shoulder. She spoke no words, but a tender, contented, angelic smile replied.

The End